


Don't walk away (or would you wait for me?)

by arcticwaters



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 2nd Person, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Just trying something out, No Dialogue, Style experiment, accidentally falling in love, based on a prompt, look how do you not fall in love with leliana eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 11:18:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16263119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcticwaters/pseuds/arcticwaters
Summary: There’s a lot of wine for her and ale for you – lots more for you – the last stragglers from a game of Wicked Grace, and oh how surprising it is to learn the greatest secret the usually buttoned up spymaster was keeping is a tongue sharper than her blades. A dry sense of humor that matches yours beat for beat, and, even under all that metal and heavy fabric, a sparkling laugh that floats through your beer-addled brain like a new favorite song.You’re so fascinated by how suddenly and easily you saw her in a new light that you happily follow her to her bed chambers at her request.





	Don't walk away (or would you wait for me?)

**Author's Note:**

> I found a Dragon Age femslash pairing + prompt randomizer and continuously clicked until I got my beloved girls. (Took about three or four days. I got SeraxHerself three times.) It ended up being "this needs to end" which was pretty ominous, but I couldn't bring myself to writing something completely angsty with these two. I don't think the prompt plays a huge part, but I also thought this would be under 1K it is so this whole thing kinda got away from me. I wanted to try out a different style, one that I probably won't come back to but have always thought was interesting. I'm usually not a fan of 2nd person but I thought it worked well with this no dialogue type of writing.
> 
> I rushed to finish this in time for Ladies of Thedas Appreciation week; fitting since this is basically "Arctic is super gay for Leliana" the fic.

It’s _supposed_ to be something easy. No strings, no guilt, nothing messy, just some fun. And it is, in the beginning. What a beginning it is. There’s a lot of wine for her and ale for you – lots more for you – the last stragglers from a game of Wicked Grace, and oh how surprising it is to learn the greatest secret the usually buttoned up spymaster was keeping is a tongue sharper than her blades. A dry sense of humor that matches yours beat for beat, and, even under all that metal and heavy fabric, a sparkling laugh that floats through your beer-addled brain like a new favorite song.

You’re so fascinated by how suddenly and easily you saw her in a new light that you happily follow her to her bed chambers at her request.

You think _that’s that_ as you stumble back to your own room the next morning. Nothing would come from this but some knowing looks between you and a story you could only tell yourself. But to your great surprise, it happens again; and without alcohol this time! Just a note with a time and place – her’s, of course.

It’s her idea, after this second night while you were both getting dressed. A breezy suggestion, if you’d like to make this a regular thing. Not love, for who had time for that, just some spontaneous fun. You eagerly agree. A couple nightly romps with the oh-so (not) intimidating Sister Nightingale, no catch in sight? How could you ever let an opportunity like that slip by? It’s not like you’re a stranger to such situations; you’ve been girls’ fun on the side before. You could never tell anyone, but just imagine the look on people’s faces! The Left Hand of the Divine and _you_. A Jenny, a nobody, a People. No one will ever believe you and somehow that had makes it all the more enticing.

And it really is great fun. (Lady Shadows knows what she’s _doing_. She knows how to press buttons you didn’t even know you had, and you wonder if she’s had elven lovers before, or maybe she’s just that good at reading people.) It isn’t every night, there’s never any schedule, so each time she comes to you with that look in her eyes is like a new surprise. And sometimes, when you’re feeling bold, you go to her first; showing up at her rookery when you could see the candlelight from your room, or catching her in the hallways after her Big People meetings (now those were the times when you were the quietest you’ve ever been in your _life_.) If either of you didn’t feel like it at the time, then it just didn’t happen, no hard feelings. It’s simple. Easy stress relief in your complicated lives.

And then suddenly, it’s a little less simple. You wake up before her one early morning, when the sun is just starting to peak in through the windows. You don’t know why, she’s typically the one up before you, ever the sneaky one. Maybe she’d just been especially tired that night. But whatever the reason, you wake up and for the first time, you get to see her sleeping. Usually no big deal, right? But she’s _right_ up against you, face buried in your hair, one arm tight over your torso like you are something precious. You’re pretty sure neither of you had been touching when you’d fallen asleep. You move, aware that one of your legs is numb, and in response she shifts to tuck her head under your chin, and nuzzles – _nuzzles_ – closer with a tiny little noise of contentment. Her hair shines brightly even in the first pale light of dawn. You’d never noticed that little braid before and you have to resist the urge to run your fingers over it. You were usually so caught up in the sensations and the thrill of it all that you must not have ever stopped to look.

Somehow you make it back to sleep despite the pounding of your heart and she’s gone when you next wake up. You don’t tell her about it (as desperately as you want to rub it in her face that the big scary shadows is a Maker damned _sleep cuddler_.) There’s really no reason to. It’s such an insignificant thing, just a moment of her at peace; and yet, somehow, it feels earthshattering.

You find that over the next few nights, you’re starting to notice things you hadn’t before. The dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks, paler and less numerous than your own, but still nice to count. The scars that littered her body that you like to discover with kisses, and she kinda likes it too, but not the nasty looking one on her stomach, and you wonder what happened there. The way she presses her face into your shoulder when you’re doing a particularly good job, how sweet her moan sounds in your ear when you curve your fingers just so.

And it’s not just in the bedroom either. You like to sit in the rookery, pretending that you’re just thinking up ways to mess with Dorian or Solas (though, yes, you are doing that) when actually, you’re listening to her talk to her agents in her natural environment. You’re fascinated by the way her voice lowers when she has to make a tough yet necessary decision – the “sinister” Left Hand isn’t so sinister by choice, you’re finding; it’s hard work, being a spymaster – how it raises in joy when she gets a letter from an old acquaintance pledging allegiance to the inquisition. Her accent rolls around her words, making them sound so funny and so pretty at the same time; notably Orlesian, but so different from the snobby accents in Val Royeaux. And the _names_ she gives the ravens she coos over, you can’t believe they come from the same woman who could make men shake with one look.

You knew she was funny, she proved that to you already, but you see the way her eyes light up when she teases the Lady Josie about her frantic worrying over a visiting noble. How she meets the Inquisitor’s eye and trades a bored look when said noble isn’t looking. How she loves to take the absolute piss out of Cullen without any real malice. How she sometimes bats her eyes at Cassandra and calls her _dear_ when she knows no one else is listening, for the sole reason of getting a rise out of her, and then saunters away like it never happened. You like it when the Big People show that they’re just People, and this one didn’t even need you to step in and prank her. She was just… just _like_ that.

You catch her in the tavern one night and you buy her a drink just to keep her there. Not to get stupid drunk again, but because you really just want to sit and talk with her. Watch the way one corner of her lips raise in that little smirk when you suggest you could probably shoot an arrow farther than she could. (Over the rim of her glass and with a glint in her eye, she tells you she’s been shooting bows since before you could walk, but you don’t believe that. You don’t think she’s _that_ much older than you, but oh, the _confidence_.) Hear that ringing laugh again, because sometimes you think about it at night and its better in person. It ends in a little snort when she’s a glass in, and she blushes prettily, looking annoyed at herself. It takes every ounce of willpower in your body to not kiss her right in front of everyone.

But it’s not until you find her face looking back at you in the pages of your scribbles that you think… maybe… you might be a little bit in love with her.

Suddenly it’s no longer just “less simple”, it’s not simple at all.

When you return from a three week outing with the Inquisitor, she’s there at your door late that night. You’re happy to see her, and the sex is nice, of course, with how much you missed her, but you can’t help but be a little saddened by how… causally she treats it. She tells you hello with a genuine smile, even seems to give a little more extra kisses and care to your new scrapes and bruises, but you don’t _really_ talk much, and she’s gone by the next morning. It was business as usual for her, but you… you kinda wanted to tell her about the dragon you _almost_ fought but Blackwall and Cassandra held you back like the no-fun boobs they were. Beforehand you would have been content to have a romp and then tell your totally-not-exaggerated story later when you both happened to be in public. Now more and more you wanna keep her to yourself.

You go to her the following night, surprising her with a forceful kiss as soon as the door is open. How positively _boring_ it must have been on the road for you is all she muses as you both hit the bed. Clothes end up on the floor, tiny little bite marks are trailed down her neck (you’re not the only one who has secret buttons to press, as you quickly found out early on) but this time, you hold back a little. You stick mostly to kissing, some intense, some slow and steady. You want to try something different this time; maybe it’s dumb, and it’s not that you don’t enjoy what you have, but you just wanna _test_ this. It doesn’t take her long to notice you are decidedly less responsive to the rolls of her hips as you usually are, but when she pulls back to look at you with one questioning eyebrow, you just curl up on top of her and pretend to be oh-so tired from your trip; you just don’t have it in you tonight, you’re much more worn out from fighting demons than you realized. Pulled a muscle, hasn’t recovered yet that’s all, Shadows.

She’s no fool, and you don’t think she bought it, but after a moment’s pause, she lets her arms slip around you, the nails of one hand running a slow line down your back and a warm ghost of a chuckle in your ear, _alright, you win,_ _just this once_. You learn _just once_ isn’t all that true, as now there are suddenly days where she simply lets you stay in bed with her. She can’t make you do any more than you’re willing, she says; company is company, after all, so she allows it.

You tested it and you found you quite like the cuddles, and the just-kissing. You like them about as much as the sex (and damn is _that_ ever a sign that you’re really in it with someone.) What you don’t like is how _just this once_ echoes through you in the nights when you’re alone. How, despite how you know firsthand that she secretly likes a good cuddle, the sex-less nights feel almost… begrudging; that she’s allowing them, but they’re not what she comes to you for. How your gut aches knowing you’re looking at her in so many ways during the day, but she is not. How being one of her secrets went from being a thrill to being something that stung. And you really don’t mean to, but you think you might be resenting the whole thing a little.

You know it’s not her fault. You know you had a clear understanding. But this isn’t… this isn’t the first time a human woman sought you out nightly just for some secret fun and pleasure. That was different and you know she’s not just _using_ you. But thoughts start to swirl, you don’t really know how to work out your feelings because you can’t _tell_ anyone, and you just can’t help it.

It hurts, and it’s not one’s fault, it hurts, and you’re just being stupid, it hurts, it hurts.

You think this needs to stop.

You don’t want to be her little secret anymore.

You think this needs to stop, and you tell her so one early morning before she has the chance to leave.

You know she’s awake. (Because you were too busy thinking to sleep yourself, and you heard her.) She opens one eye at you lazily, barely even lifting her head from the pillow, and asks in a smooth, silky voice if she’s been an unsatisfactory lover. It’s probably a joke, but you start anyway, quick to shakily tell her, _no, no, nothing like that_. It’s just, she’s been _too_ good. You have her attention so you keep going, saying you just don’t know if you can do this anymore. It’s fun, but it’s not… _as_ fun anymore. Maybe they could try something new to make it fun again? She gets what you’re saying, right?

No, she doesn’t, judging by the slow furrowing of her brow, so you take a breath, sitting up straight. You look her in the eye and tell her: you don’t want to be her fuck buddy anymore, some hidden, dirty secret. Things are different now and you can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to either of you.

You struggle with your words now, picking at the blanket from the edge of the bed, but you keep going and lay it out: you want more, or this ends. You’ll leave as a friend, but this night time thing won’t be happening again unless it’s… something more.

You leave out the part about maybe being just a little bit in love with her, not wanting to seem more pathetic and desperate than you already feel. You settle for emphasizing _more_ , hoping that makes it sound like this feelings thing is something you were thinking about just recently, instead of something that’s kept you up for weeks like a right fool.

You take in the dawning realization on her face, looking for signs that she’s seeing right through you, but she’s the master of schooling her expression and you can’t get a read on her. She clears her throat politely with a light shake of her hair out of her face as she rolls over on her back to look up at the ceiling and think. You have to look away and stare daggers at the rug, because you’re not as brave as you like to play and you don’t have the guts to watch her. In fact, you kinda wanna run and just forget this ever happened, but you’re not sure where your pants are and your legs are too wobbly to get up and look for them.

She inhales slowly, and on the exhale admits that she could tell something was going on with you for a while now, but kept her suspicions to a minimum; she felt she owed it to you to let you work through your own issues without her prying. (You do appreciate that. Maybe it would’ve been nice if she’d come to you and saved you a couple of restless nights, but you like that she respects you. High praise from the Nightingale, that.) You can tell by her careful tone that she’s got you figured out and your skin warms uncomfortably.

She doesn’t feel the same way, and her voice is low and calm, but your insides still feel like ice and the only reason you don’t immediately flee the room is because your limbs still feel too much like jelly. You refuse to show how upset you are, but you can’t help the way your shoulders start to shake and your breathing chokes despite your best efforts. You expected this though, didn’t you? You can handle this, you’re an adult, this wasn’t a surprise.

But you are surprised when she shushes you gently, her arms coming around you and pulling you back to her. You think you should struggle, pull away and not give her the satisfaction, but her hushes are soothing and her face is pressed against your neck and you really can’t resist her. She’s murmuring to you reassurances, that she may not feel the same way you do, but she would not have come to you in the first place if there hadn’t been something about you. That it’s been quite a long time since she last had to deal with feelings of any kind, and she’s not sure if she knows how to anymore. But, if you’re willing, perhaps the two of you could met up tonight and… talk about it?

Because she’s grown quite fond of you and would hate to see this end.

Your heart stops and all you can do is nod.

She presses a kiss to your neck as she slips out of bed. She does have things to do and you feel kind of bad for keeping her, but she tells you it’s alright with a light hand under your chin and a promise to talk.

And you talk; in a quiet corner of the tavern’s second floor, the whole floor abandoned except the two of you. She tells you about the Hero of Fereldan, the first time you've ever heard anything about that aside from _they dated_. You don’t get all the details, quite little in fact, but you get her more distant qualities now. You've never lost a lover like that before, you can only imagine what it’s like. You don’t know if you're any kind of great hero like that, you say to her, but you really do lo-like her a lot and you think maybe you’d be good for her.

She laughs softly, saying she doesn’t need a great savoir of Thedas, she just needs a good person and a good friend. And you really are both. Maybe, she muses, the two of could put a hold on your nightly escapades, for now, and try… a normal lunch in public? Say, tomorrow? You agree, eagerly asking if you can tell Inky, and she says yes, but only on the condition that your date goes well.

And the only thing odder than the idea of Sister Nightingale suggesting nightly romps with you is Sister Nightingale suggesting a _date_ with you. Using the word “date” and everything. You really can’t believe it’s happening, you’re almost dizzy with it all, but you haven’t been this happy is a long while.

You’re sure it’ll go well; because after all this, you get each other. And that’s not a secret anymore. You can't wait to tell everyone.

(You can't tell  _everyone_ , she says, but nah. You're gonna.)


End file.
